


never go to bed angry

by noblealice



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Canon, Woman in Charge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblealice/pseuds/noblealice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have a better idea of how we should be spending our time?”</p>
<p>“My time? Hundreds. Time spent with you? The only ideas that come to mind involve high doses of electricity.”</p>
<p>“See, now you’re just trying to sweet talk me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	never go to bed angry

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated and written for the lovely hjea's birthday, sorry it’s a tad late!!! Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

He’d only had to look in four other places before he’d found her. He was improving; there was a time when Natasha simply couldn’t be found if she didn’t want to be. Most days he tells himself that it’s because he’s become better at predicting her movements.

On rare days he lets himself hope that she _wants_ to be found.

They’d received their orders only fifteen minutes ago but she’s already sitting in the pilot’s seat of the Quinjet, already suited up and double-checking the gas gauge. It was a simple reconnaissance mission; Fury needed more intel before sending in the whole initiative, and two assassins were more stealthy than a giant green monster with a temper.

He entered the jet with a jog, closing the ramp entrance behind him. “You’re cutting it close Nat, at this rate you’ll only have thirty odd minutes to clean all your guns.”

She didn’t spare him the sideways glare he’d been hoping for. Her face remained impassive as she kept her gaze on the controls, moving now to fine tune the flaps for lift-off. Nor did she mention that she could disassemble and reassemble every concealed weapon on her in seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds. (He’d been the one to time her.)

So far, she was all icy focus and cool determination - he knew that if the rest of the trip continued like this he’d find that mule ride through the Altay mountain range with a bullet in his shoulder a joyride in comparison.

After a few minutes she finally acknowledged his presence with a huff. “This is grown up work, Barton. Why don’t you go fiddle with your bow until it’s time.”

“You seem more uptight than usual. Scared of what we’ll find out there?”

“More like worried it will be a waste of time since all the satellite images show no sign of activity. Having us fly out to confirm them is pointless.”

“Have a better idea of how we should be spending our time?”

“My time? Hundreds. Time spent with you? The only ideas that come to mind involve high doses of electricity.”

“See, now you’re just trying to sweet talk me, Nat. But I’ll have you know that I’m a very virtuous boy and I won’t give it up despite your smooth ways.”

He couldn’t see her face, but with the slight tilt of her head he could guess that she was rolling her eyes at him. “Trust me, if I wanted something from you, I’d get it.”

He leaned against the back of her chair, resting his arms across her headrest. “My mama raised me right. You’re going to have to put a ring on this finger first.”

She didn’t take the bait, and he didn’t need to see her face he knew that he’d miscalculated her mood. Apparently his latest screw-up wasn’t one he could easily charm his way out of, not that he’d ever been able to get out of hot water with Natasha what one would call easily, but hope springs eternal and all that.

He leaned down to look over her shoulder because he hadn’t really paid attention this morning and Natasha was pulling up GPS coordinates.

He was approaching her personal space and he knew Nat scared people, that her presence alone could induce a confession, but Clint didn’t think life was worth living without some risks. So with plenty of warning but without pretense, he settled his hands on Natasha’s shoulders. She could see a move coming a mile away and his best bet was to keep the mood light, but more importantly, keep it honest. He dug in the pads of his fingers, feeling the tense muscle groups coiled tight beneath her suit. He began to push in with heel of his hand, knowing just how much pressure to exert.

“Y’know Tasha, my mama had this rule ‘bout going to bed angry. Said it wasn’t healthy.”

Her hair had grown in some, long enough that he had to brush it to the side over her shoulder, leaving more skin for his hands to explore. “And I’m picking up some traces of anger here.”

He made a fist with one hand and kneaded a line down between her shoulder blades with his knuckles and her head tilted slightly forward, giving him the signal he needed to continue.

He began running his palms down her arms, expelling more tension with each pass, “Got me to wondering, if that’s how she felt about sleep, you can imagine how she’d feel about starting a highly dangerous mission when wanting to kill your partner.”

“That’s a bit extreme, Barton.” She twisted her chin to the side so he could see the beginnings of a smirk. “I don’t want to kill you. Perhaps maim you.”

That sliver of humour was another good sign so he continued his shoulder rub. Of course, it wasn’t lost on him that she was still using only his last name. He leaned down so his breath tickled the tiny hairs curling at the nape of her neck,“you think I could work that down to mildly wound?”

She reached up to grip his fingers where they rested behind her and she tugged hard enough to get him to move from behind her to her side, if only to save his arm from being popped from its socket. “Careful, it’s dangerous when you try to think.”

He was facing her now, one hand still trapped by her fingers. “You could give all the orders. No danger in that.” 

She looked him up and down, humming under her breath. “You know, you’re not as stupid as I tell people.”

“There you go again with the compliments. I’m close to swooning.”

The look Natasha sent him was one of complete nonchalance. It was a mask he frequently saw whenever she wanted him to think she thought he was being an idiot. "Just get on your knees, Barton, before I change my mind and shoot you."

Clint smirked, obeying her command swiftly. He laid his bow on the ground to his right and she was swiftly unbuckling first the ammo belt around her waist and then the utility belt that hung low on her hips, a feral grin graced her face as her fingers made quick work of the clasps.

He pulled her zipper down, exposing a deep triangle of skin. The zipper reached low on her suit, but not enough to expose the part of her that he wanted and he had to raise himself up on his knees to get better access. He caught her lips in a hard kiss while trying to use the position to slide his fingers beneath the thick material of her suit, doing his best to maneuver the tips of his calloused fingers around her clit, hoping the change in angle and twist of his wrist might help him get his fingers inside her.

Her arms wrapped around him, trapping his arm between them and their kisses grew more passionate. He swept his tongue inside her mouth and she nipped at his bottom lip. In the resulting tug and pull from both of them trying to get closer, trying to press as much skin up against the other, he bumped against the hard frame of the seat.

"Why don't these chairs recline?" He grumbled into her collarbone and he felt the vibration of a chuckle move against his skin.

He removed his hand from her suit and ran his palms against the material covering her legs, moving from where her ankles had locked behind him, up to her waist. He knew the specs of her suit and that she wouldn’t feel the impact of a rubber bullet, let alone his lips, so he had to get her suit off if he wanted to see her smile again.

He fumbled at her shoulders until she obliged and helped to push the suit down her arms, pinning them against her sides but giving him more slack where he needed it and soon he had her suit low enough for his liking. Breaking their kiss, he sat back down and grabbed her ass to scoot her forward in the seat, leaving her legs no option but to drape over his shoulders for support. Her boots, thick with mud, rested on the cockpit and somewhere in the back of his brain he hoped she didn't kick anything too important.

He used his hands to stroke up and down her legs while he rubbed against her, nuzzling his face into the toned muscles of her thigh, the power there shivering beneath him. Soon he moved his face closer to where his fingers had just been and he could feel the heat of her against his cheek.

“You’re taking too long.”

He smiled at the frustration in her voice and gave her a flutter of kisses across her ribcage. He had been able to shimmy her out of the suit enough that he had the space to slip two fingers inside her, biting lightly at the flesh above her hip when she squeezed her legs around him. He continued to kiss along her belly, slowly moving closer to where his fingers were working slowly insider her. He had started a lazy rhythm, shifting inside her, twisting and widening.

“Another,” she commanded, and he added a third finger.

He was rewarded with a short, soft keening noise as she relayed her frustration at his pace and soon he had his fingers pumping quickly in and out of her. As wet as she was, there was some resistance and it took his brain a few minutes to realize that he was still wearing his archery glove. It had been custom-made to wrap from his wrist to the tips of his pointer, middle and index finger for support but he belatedly realised that the unyielding leather might not be the most comfortable. He made to switch to his other hand when he felt nail-sized daggers of pressure on his wrist.

He stared at her face, saw the unspoken order and so although he slowed, he didn’t stop. 

He knew that he’d have a hard time concentrating on any target the next time he had to loose a bolt wearing this particular glove.

He moved his mouth to suck and push on her clit, hoping to speed along her release. He moved his free hand to rub lazy circles on her stomach while her nails migrated to his scalp, tugging his hair when he crooked his fingers just right.

Her legs were tightening around his ears, blocking out all other sounds than the ones he could feel vibrating from her body and he knew she was close. He slid his free hand up from her stomach to pinch at her nipples in time with the rhythm he had set with his tongue. She began writhing and bucking beneath him so he pulled his fingers out of her and replaced them with his mouth, letting his tongue lap at her greedily while his slippery fingers moved up to replace the attentions he’d previously been giving to her clit. 

Soon he felt the muscles of her stomach quivering and he rolled her clit between his leather-covered fingers before flicking it rapidly.

He felt her tense before she came and then all her muscles went slack, sagging back into the bucket of the seat. 

He rolled back onto his heels to get a better look at her, desperately wanting to kiss her again. “Took some liberties from your orders near the end there, hope you don’t mind.” She let out an airy laugh that if Clint hadn’t caught the end of, he’d have told himself he was imagining things. She began to tug her suit back up her arms. "You keep that up, I don't think I'll ever go to bed angry again."

"I'll hold you to that. The cot in the ready room is not comfortable in the least."

"Poor baby." She lightly slapped his cheek, her voice devoid of even a scrap of sympathy.

"Don't get me wrong, I've slept on worse. But everyone wanted to _talk_ about it. I don’t know why they all think it’s their business, but suddenly every superhero in a twenty mile radius became a relationship expert." She was still adjusting her suit and her hair was mussed from when he’d run his hands through it, yet she still looked imperial and disapproving. “And yes, saying that out loud I realise how hypocritical I sound.”

She made eye contact, tilting her head while raising an eyebrow. "So you agree that some things should be kept private?"

"Never said they shouldn't, just wanted to help you out. Not that you needed my help, but because I could. Kinda like a gesture.” He risked a glance up at her. “I hear it’s what normal folk do on anniversaries.”

It had been the first time they had ever spoken aloud of this part of their relationship, why they always managed to be in the same place one day every year. It had been a bit of a superstition of his, afraid that saying the words out loud would cause her to bolt. But superstition tended to get pushed aside when doing battle with science experiments and gods; this year he needed to hear her recognise the day for what it was and what it meant.

He could be patient though, because at the moment all Natasha did was roll her eyes at him. "Like we could ever be normal, Clint. Next time stick to your strengths. Remember Abuja? That was a good gift."

He grinned at hearing his first name again after 48 hours of just 'Barton'. It was of his humble opinion that Natasha saying his name was one of the best sounds in the universe. "So, we're good?"

She shrugged, "we're still going to have to talk when we get back. I don't like that JARVIS, or worse, some stranger was rifling through my clothes, looking at my things."

"I know that, that's why _I_ did it."

Nat was not one to surprise easy but he could see the disbelief in her eyes." _You_ did my laundry? You’re the one who ruined my vintage Dior because you forgot to remove the knives I had sewn in?"

He winced at that. He knew how Nat couldn’t even sleep without a blade beneath her pillow and he really should have should have checked every article of clothing for hidden weapons. “It's okay to trust people, Nat."

Placing a hand on top of his, "Listen, I'll gladly trust you with my life on this mission, and the next, and the one after that.” Her hand curled into a fist, “but if you ever touch my things again, I'll tell everyone you _want_ relationship advice."

He paled, fear crossing his features. Last night was an experience he never wanted repeated. "Understood. Your laundry is off-limits.”


End file.
